


Independence Chained Me Down

by PerfectTragedy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Canada is stuck with a clingy yet distant England, Canada is torn between still loving his brother and despising him for leaving, Canada taking care of spiraling England, Canada-centric, FACE Family, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mentioned America (Hetalia), Oneshot, Post American Independence, Sad, Tags Are Hard, Tough Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23991445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectTragedy/pseuds/PerfectTragedy
Summary: Matthew struggles to keep himself and Arthur sane after Alfred leaves them behind to pursue his dreams of freedom. Cue the daily pain when Matthew does not feel good enough.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Independence Chained Me Down

Once upon a time, Matthew Williams, the living representation of Canada, was as precious as precious could be. The diamond up North, a few even used to call him. They'd observe from afar, fight right away for their hopes to become chances, with darker dreams of drowning in the waves of a cruel ocean. Some fought for even as long as 7 years at a time to keep foreign hands off.

Well, those times are long over now.

The caring attention received was not even close to that of years upon years ago. Who could blame them? He was nothing different, nothing unseen, just no longer of main interest. A poor chesspiece cornered by the doings and undoings of history. It tainted his being, pushed him around for as long as he could remember. Too silent, too cold, too far away. Harsh realities kept quiet behind a forehead hidden in curls.

Thoughts were monsters nibbling, eating the essence away. But to all that's holy, why did Alfred have to leave him all alone? 

Matthew knew he'd have to hate him, to hate his selfish brother for leaving him alone with an insufferable - most of the time drunk - Arthur, in the poorest of conditions. Painful at this point yet true, Alfred was still a brother to him. Understanding must he be to let him go, to be free like he so wanted to feel, let him be the hero and for Matthew to assume the weakling position. He loved his sibling dearly and despised him all the same. . . All sibling relationships are this way, he'd whisper under his breath.

A sour taste however wouldn't let him be. Arthur had always loved Alfred like his own, there was no questioning that. No matter how badly he would mess up, at the end of the day, he was still Arthur's most beloved. Even though Matthew put his heart and soul into everything he was doing, striving for perfection constantly, Arthur seemed far from impressed. 

Not enough through and through.

The demanding housemate would put him down no matter what - dismiss his curly, blonde hair and oddly coloured eyes, his mannerisms, that damn accent that he worked so hard to hide and his language that he had grown to hate and forget because of him. That never would've happened to Alfred. Matthew envied him more than words might add up to and--

He'd run down the gloomy halls all day, Matthew this, Matthew that. He'd have to make tea and breakfast first thing in the morning, scrub clean everything in the house, wash and iron Arthur's overly flamboyant clothing, rearrange books in alphabetical order, make tea and lunch, ignore the horribly drunk and depressed Arthur, bandage wherever he had hurt himself while kicking and breaking furniture or other objects in the house, prepare him a bath, clean the damage done, make tea and dinner, arrange the mess which was Arthur's room and finally read himself to sleep, since that was the only activity he could do to live through such days, to escape reality. There was no time for whining as there was barely time to breathe, eat something and somewhat sleep, if not reading or bursting into silent tears. What had he done to be given eternal life and live it like this?

He wished he could escape it all. Be taken care of instead. His mind fuzzy and body warm, not frozen with fear.

Matthew lost a dear one too, after all.

He rushed to the small, cold and clammy kitchen, preparing the breakfast Arthur would barely poke at. Putting it as fast as possible onto a plate, he made his way around the maze-like counters, placing it down carefully. While boiling some tea, he finished eating his own breakfast, a lonely piece of bread. Next after he prepared the tea and poured it into a dainty cup, he moved onto washing everything he had used to make breakfast.

Matthew hurried down the hallway to announce Arthur his breakfast was ready, that was until he tripped somewhere in his chaotic steps. Landing onto the ground with a thud, his vision went blurry before his head started pounding with the power of a thousand suns. 

The pain in his skull was insufferable but that was beside the point. He'd have to get on with his chores and scrub the floor clean before Arthur would notice his incompetence and point it out. That would beat any physical pain. 

And so he got up, hurrying again, hands to his temples to contain the insides of his head. They were sure to slip away along with his consciousness otherwise. 

Serious stuff.

Walk, walk, walk to find where he last placed the mop and bucket of water. 

Everything, squeaky clean, perfectly tidy.

That's the least he could do if not have a better place in his careholder's thoughts.

"Agh!"

Speaking of the devil. Matthew froze and placed the mop carefully to rest against the wall. He also wanted to rest against the wall, take it easy, close his eyes. . . If he was actually starting to envy a damned mop then he would have the right to begin and think he's going insane.

No matter, he wiped his hands quickly on his flimsy trousers and ran to face the door to Arthur's room.

"Is everything alright, sir?" he asked, from behind the door - his only shield for now.

"I have a terrible headache, and unruly stomach,"

Of course you do, Matthew thought to himself, drinking yourself into a coma yesterday was not going to do you any good.

"could you bring some water and a bucket, now?" an order came from an incoherent man.

"Yessir." he rushed away.

Out, out, out for a bucket he barely did find and a glass of water proved a difficult task with a still aching head. Shyly knocking and popping his head through the door, he was allowed to enter and help him out.

"Did you forget to bring breakfast? Really? How can you be so forgetful?"

Matthew's muscles tensed up. Did he ask for breakfast to be brought to him? Nevermind, he needed to do that. Slip away before Arthur would get angrier.

As he was about to take his leave, Arthur grabbed him by his forearm.

"I thought you would be staying here to help out, not be a nuisance." he insisted on a disappointing tone of voice.

"I am sor--"

"Do not bother." he looked away. "I can take care of myself just fine."

"But please let me he--"

"I said do not bother!"

Arthur stood up from his sitting spot all of a sudden, making Matthew take a step back.

"I--" 

Matthew began to explain but. . 

"Fuckin--" 

Arthur managed to lean over the bucket in time before proceeding to puke his guts out.

Matthew stepped back even further, looking at the scenario before him. His tired eyes fell upon this wretched, scrawny figure. So unhappy, on the edge, punishing everyone but the traitor. 

He almost felt guilty. Almost. However, being an actual shadow of the mess on the floor he reconsidered and thought - how could you do this, Alfred?

You ruined us both.


End file.
